Rage
by A Nicole That Morphs
Summary: Feeling particularly melancholy, Quatre tries to talk to Trowa about his emotions. Neither takes the talk well leading to a massive argument with dangerous consequences.


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Rage

"I don't want to talk about it, Trowa." Quatre said, an irritation to his voice. Trowa looked at Quatre from the doorway.

"Why, Quatre?? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" Trowa asked, sounding a little hurt. Quatre turned his face away from Trowa.

"I don't think you'll understand, Trowa. I've been crying myself to sleep for weeks. You're obviously too busy to notice." Quatre said. Trowa was surprised that Quatre was saying these things; there was a tone to his voice he had never heard before. When Quatre turned around again, his eyes were watering, but he wasn't crying yet. "How could you possibly understand? It's not just guilt hanging on my conscience…it's so much more then that.." He added, a little more pain to his voice.

"Please, you have to talk to me.." Trowa trailed off. He hated to see Quatre like this, but he couldn't think of anything more to say to him. Quatre suddenly got a strange, scoffing look to his face.

"That's right, Trowa. Pretend that you care." Quatre said. The tears began flowing down his face, and Trowa was overwhelmed with grief. "We're Gundam pilots, Trowa. We aren't allowed to show emotion. We aren't allowed to care, we aren't allowed to be compassionate. We aren't allowed to be human.." Quatre trailed off. But his tears didn't seem to be tears of sorrow anymore, they seemed to be tears of rage, of anger. Trowa opened his mouth to speak, but Quatre cut him off. "Don't bother, Trowa. Don't waste your valuable emotions on me. I'm just another weak human who shouldn't be fighting a war in the first place." Quatre said, and he walked out of the room. 

Trowa was in shock. *He's right…* He thought, suddenly. *The Gundam's aren't allowed to be human…* But there was still a bit of doubt in his mind. He walked out of the room after Quatre, hoping to comfort him. 

"Quatre, you know that isn't true. You're not weak. You're stronger then you think you are." Trowa called to Quatre's retreating figure. Quatre turned around, and Trowa saw anger in the young boy's eyes. *I have to snap him out of this..*

"No, I'm weaker then you think I am." Quatre said coldly. Then he let out a short laugh. "Was that the best consolation you could come up with?" Trowa was taken aback, but he was also becoming annoyed.

"What's wrong with you, Quatre?" Trowa said, and immediately regretted it. The question had come out a lot meaner then he had intended it. Quatre look hurt for a brief moment, but then his face was blank again.

"Nothing, Trowa. Nothing's wrong with me….or, is everything wrong with me? You don't care anyway, do you?!" Quatre yelled, a violent yet depressed tone to his voice, something Trowa had never heard from him before. "You never did care; you were never there for me when I need you most. Where were you?? Too busy getting wrapped up in battles, in this pointless war!! We're never going to win this war, not if people like me can interfere with the objectives that people like you have." Trowa walked swiftly over to Quatre, his anger overflowing. But he got the idea that he was severely misunderstanding what Quatre was saying. Quatre and Trowa locked eyes, both boys angry beyond their own knowledge. "Why don't you kill me Trowa? Get me out of your way, one less person to worry about, one more casualty of war." Quatre said.

Before Trowa could control himself, he brought his hand up, and backhanded Quatre across the face. There was a loud smacking sound, and Quatre fell to the ground clutching his cheek. A silence suddenly filled the air, and Trowa felt a slight tingle in his hand. But he wasn't worried about that, he was worried about Quatre, who was still kneeling on the ground with his hands on his cheek, obviously crying. Trowa was horrified; he couldn't believe he had just hit his best friend.

"Oh, God…Quatre, I'm sorry…" Quatre turned away, and scrambled to his feet.

"Don't bother, Trowa. I suppose I deserved it.." Quatre choked out, and Trowa could see Quatre sobbing, even though he wasn't facing him. 

"It all happened so quickly…I didn't mean—" Trowa cut himself off as Quatre ran out the front door. "QUATRE!!" Trowa yelled after him, but no response came.

He couldn't figure out why he had said half the things he had said. *Trowa's right…there is something wrong with me…* Quatre thought as he ran down the street.

"I don't believe I told him to kill me…." Quatre whispered as he reached the corner of the street, and slowed down. He was too exhausted to run anymore. He turned around to see if Trowa had come after him, but he couldn't spot his friend anywhere. "Why would he come after me? I…don't believe I said…he didn't care." Quatre stuttered as he began sobbing. 

Trowa walked into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He considered going after Quatre, but couldn't bring himself to it, he was afraid of what he might do if he saw Quatre. 

"I hit him…what wouldn't I do??" Trowa said. He couldn't believe he had raised a hand to Quatre. After all, he had clearly been pleading for help, if not actually saying it, it was in his eyes. "But I didn't help him at all, did I? Maybe this is why Quatre didn't want to talk to me about it, because he didn't think I would be able to comfort him…and I didn't…" Trowa whispered as he placed his head in his hands. He couldn't take his mind off Quatre's face, how hurt he had looked after Trowa had hit him. But he had said he deserved it…did he really? *No,* Trowa thought, *no one deserves that.* Trowa couldn't help but feel that somehow Quatre's problems were his fault. Maybe if he had picked up on his friend's dilemma sooner, maybe if he hadn't ignored the fact that Quatre hadn't been eating much. *Maybe if I hadn't ignored him silently pleading for help, crying himself to sleep every night, this could've been prevented..* He cared for Quatre more then anything, but maybe Quatre was right, maybe he was getting too caught up in the battles, and maybe that was causing him to ignore Quatre.

"I'm sorry, Quatre….I'm so sorry." Trowa said to the empty room. 

Quatre walked slowly down the street, totally aimless. His cheek had stopped smarting a block or so ago, but he couldn't bring himself to go back to his house. He was worried about what he might say to Trowa, possibly saying something to totally destroy the tattered remnants of their friendship. He closed his eyes, and remembered seeing how concerned Trowa had looked, but he had kept yelling, kept making false accusations. Accusing Trowa of not caring, even though he knew that was far from the truth. *Maybe I should go back and talk to Trowa; apologize for being so mean.* Quatre thought forlornly, and unconsciously placed a hand on the cheek that Trowa had hit. When he rubbed it, it still hurt…and he winced as the realized it would probably turn black and blue. *But would he really understand my problems?* He paused as he felt warm tears begin to roll down his cheeks; he kept his head down and averted eye contact with passers-by. *I don't think anyone would really understand…*

It was well past nightfall when he finally returned to his house. When he opened the door and walked in the silence and darkness in the house engulfed him, and he felt extremely insignificant and alone. He closed the door behind him slowly and quietly, so he wouldn't wake Trowa. *If he's still here.* He thought, and was pained by the idea that Trowa might really be gone.

"I couldn't blame him if he did leave." Quatre whispered, although in the empty room it sounded to him as though he had shouted it.

Trowa was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was still completely aghast by the entire incident, and although he had gotten into bed almost three hours ago, he hadn't slept once. He heard the door open, and breathed a sigh of relief. *Quatre came home…* He thought with slight comfort. He got out of bed and was going to go talk to Quatre, but he didn't get any father then the door to his room. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he found himself incapable of opening it. As badly as he wanted to go comfort Quatre, to apologize to him, he couldn't bring himself to open the door. *What if he's still mad at me? If I went down to talk to him, he might leave again.* Trowa thought. He was so unsure of what to do. He didn't want Quatre to leave again. His hand slid from the doorknob and fell to rest at his side again. *We'll talk tomorrow.* He convinced himself that this was the truth as he climbed back into bed, praying for sleep even though he knew it wouldn't come.

Quatre walked into the kitchen, and looked around. When his eyes landed on the refrigerator, he was suddenly conscious of his hunger, and remembered that he hadn't eaten all day. He opened the refrigerator, and looked through it a bit, but closed it again when he decided there wasn't anything worth eating. He looked through the cupboards as well, but after looking through only one, he realized it was hopeless. *I've eaten barely anything for over two days now; I don't think I'm going to find anything…and besides, I'm not that hungry.* He persuaded himself, although he knew that he was starving, he just couldn't bring himself to eat.

"I probably wouldn't be able to hold it down, anyway." He said aloud. *That's right; keep making excuses so you can starve yourself. Trying to get attention?* His mind accused. He hung his head and closed his eyes, letting tears come again.

"Trowa's right. There's something wrong with me…there has to be…" He trailed off and began to sob silently in the dark kitchen.

After he was done in the kitchen, he made his way quietly up the stairs. As he reached the landing, he looked in the direction of Trowa's room. *Maybe I should go see if he's still here.* Quatre thought, but decided not to, because he was afraid of finding out if his friend had left or not. He turned away from Trowa's room, and walked into his room across the hall. When he closed the door behind him, he turned on the light, and for the first time that day he took a in the mirror.

He looked so pale, even more so then usual. He looked sick, probably because he hadn't been eating. He turned his head to the left to examining his cheek. Even though Trowa had only hit him, it looked as though he had punched him. The black and blue was a lot worse than Quatre expected it to be, taking up almost his entire cheek. He turned away from the mirror, knowing that tomorrow he would have to try his hardest not to let Trowa see the damage. *I don't want him blaming himself for this…it was my fault, I incited him.*

Trowa opened his eyes slowly, and was aware that there was sunlight coming into his room from the window. He sat up and looked around, unsure of how long he had been asleep. He tried to think back to the night, to figure out if he had heard Quatre crying again, but he was sure he hadn't. *Maybe he got some sleep, then..* Trowa thought hopefully. Quatre had been looking ill lately, and it was worrying Trowa. *Then why didn't I tell him I was worried?* Trowa thought. But instead he had said 'Are you alright, you don't look well.' That's what he had said yesterday, that's what started the whole fight between him and Quatre. He couldn't simply say what was on his mind, instead he had to word it so he didn't sound too concerned. That was probably why Quatre didn't want to talk to him about it. *He thought I wasn't really concerned…* Trowa thought, and was hurt by the idea that that might be what Quatre really thought. Trowa climbed out of bed and got dressed, deciding right then that next time he saw Quatre, he would talk to him about what had happened the other day, that he'd talk to him about everything, and not hold anything back. After he brushed his hair, he walked out of his room, and across the hall, knocking on Quatre's door. He waited a moment, and when no answer came, he opened it slowly. He breathed a sigh as he saw Quatre sleeping in his bed. He couldn't help but feel relieved; Quatre had finally gotten some sleep. *Hopefully he'll eat today as well.* Trowa thought as he closed the door quietly and walked downstairs.

Quatre had managed to fall asleep that night. He didn't cry, which he thought was odd because that day had to be the worst day he'd been through yet. He had told his best friend to kill him, and then didn't even listen to him when he tried to apologize for hitting him. 

When Quatre woke up, he was feeling better, although when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he was surprised to see how much worse the black and blue had gotten. Although in general he didn't look as sick as he had the night before, now that he had gotten a good night's rest he at least had more color in his face. But he knew there was something wrong when he turned around, because the room started spinning, and he had to grab onto the dresser for support. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again, the room was still. He got dressed slowly, so as not to have the weird dizziness overwhelm him again. He knew he had to eat, or else he'd probably collapse.

He exited his room, and listened for some noise in the house that would let him know if Trowa was still there. At first, he didn't hear anything and began to worry, but as he made his way down the staircase, he heard some noises in the kitchen. *Trowa's cooking..* Quatre thought, and smiled at the image. But he soon realized that he would have to make sure Trowa didn't see his black and blue; the last thing he wanted was to talk about what happened yesterday. He walked into the kitchen silently, and tried not to call attention to himself as he subtly sat in a chair, making sure the right side of his face was the side facing Trowa.

Trowa turned around when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Quatre sitting in a seat at the table. He looked at his friend, but couldn't think of anything to say. *Am I still afraid to talk to him?* Trowa thought. Quatre didn't seem to notice Trowa was looking at him, so Trowa turned back around. *Do I not want to talk to him? I should ask him what's bothering him so much.* Trowa stared at the pot on the stove, which had soup boiling in it.

"What are you making?" Quatre asked meekly. He wished his voice sounded stronger, less timid, but it didn't. It barely sounded friendly. *But I'm not mad at Trowa…* Quatre thought. The question lacked the sound of actual interest behind it. Quatre cringed, aware that if he noticed the lack of interest in the question, Trowa probably did too. Although, if he had noticed it, he had ignored it.

"Just some chicken soup, nothing big." Trowa said as he got out a couple of bowls, and poured the soup. "You did want some, right?" Trowa asked, and silently prayed that Quatre said yes, not just because he had made it, but because Quatre was in desperate need of it.

"Yeah." Quatre said half-heartedly. Trowa put the bowl down in front of Quatre, and then sat in the chair across from him. Quatre swiftly turned his chair so Trowa could yet again only see the right side of his face. Trowa was about to ask him why he had turned his chair but decided not to. *Why don't I ask him?* Trowa thought, a bit angry at himself. *It's this kind of silence that makes him think I don't care, so why can't I show him that I do.* 

They ate the soup in complete silence although Trowa didn't mind, as long as Quatre was eating something. When Quatre was done, he got up without a word and put his bowl in the sink and then made to leave the kitchen from the far door. Trowa, who was finally gathering up his wits to ask Quatre exactly why he wasn't talking, got up as well, even though he hadn't finished his soup yet. He walked swiftly after Quatre, but paused in the doorway to the kitchen as he watched Quatre take his violin out of the display case in the living room. 

Quatre knew that playing the violin would probably hurt his cheek, considering he held the violin with his left hand, but he had to prevent Trowa from asking questions, from seeing the injury. He slowly rested his cheek on the cloth pad on his violin, and hid his wince as pain shot through his head. As he began playing, Trowa turned back into the kitchen, deciding that he'd wait until after Quatre was done playing to ask him. *Why do I keep putting it off?* He questioned himself, but couldn't come up with an answer. As he picked up his soup bowl and put it in the sink, he was disturbed to notice that Quatre's bowl was still a little more then half-filled. *So he didn't really eat..* Trowa frowned. But quickly his dismay was overwhelmed by anger at himself for not noticing. *I didn't notice because I didn't want to…maybe I really don't care about him…* He thought. He hung his head and closed his eyes. *How can I not care?…* He lifted his head as he heard the distinct sound of water dripping. When he looked back into the sink, he saw ripples in the water. *Ripples?* As he looked for the source of the dripping water, his hand came up to his cheek, and brushed away some tears. *I'm crying…* He was actually shocked, and couldn't figure out exactly why he was crying. Trowa quickly wiped away the rest of his tears, and then turned around as he realized that the violin music had stopped. 

Trowa walked out of the kitchen and made his way quietly into the living room.

"Quatre?" He said, and looked around. He paused, waiting for an answer. After a moment or two of complete silence, he rounded the couch quickly, and saw Quatre sitting with his back propped against the couch, head resting on his knees. He violin was unceremoniously lying on the floor next to him. "Are you alright?" Trowa asked, a severe sound of concern in his voice.

Quatre wanted to answer Trowa, but he didn't know how to explain what had happened. He had had one of his dizzy spells again, but it had been worse this time. It had caused his stomach to knot, nausea to grip at his throat, and he had very nearly lost consciousness. He didn't want to tell Trowa all of that, he didn't want Trowa to worry about him. He knew that Trowa had more important things to concern himself with. *But not telling him what's wrong only makes him worry more.* As Trowa knelt down next to him, Quatre finally got the nerve to speak.

"I'm…alright. I just felt nauseous for a minute." That wasn't too far from the truth, he supposed.

"You should eat something." Trowa said. He was annoyed to find his voice lacked real concern once more. Trowa looked at Quatre, who still hadn't lifted his head from his knees. *Why won't he look at me?* Trowa wondered, and before he knew what he was doing, he placed a hand under Quatre's chin.

*No…no, no…* Quatre pleaded silently as he realized what was going to happen next. But he couldn't fight Trowa anymore, he was too weak.

Trowa tilted Quatre's head up, and for the first time that day, saw the left side of his face.

He quickly pulled his hand away. Quatre wanted to turn his head, so Trowa wouldn't have to see the damage any more then he already had, but he couldn't create enough energy. He saw the shock, the horror, written all over Trowa's face, and could do nothing but cry for him. Trowa saw Quatre begin to cry, and wanted to comfort him, but couldn't say anything. He was completely and utterly horrified by how damaged, how abused Quatre looked. He looked into Quatre's eyes, and saw a mix of sorrow and regret. *He was trying to keep me from seeing the injury.* Trowa thought, and choked. He got up quickly, and turned away, knowing he wouldn't be able to look at Quatre without feeling grieved. 

Quatre watched as Trowa practically jumped to his feet, and turned away, looking as though he was ready to cry. *But Trowa won't cry…not over something like this.* Quatre assured himself. He placed his head back on his knees, and was suddenly extremely exhausted. 

Trowa couldn't bring himself to look back at Quatre, even though he could hear him crying. The black and blue looked even worse then it should on Quatre's pale complexion, but when Trowa had looked at it, all the painful memories of their fight from the previous day came back in a flash, and Trowa couldn't deny it any longer, that those memories pained him like a gaping wound. Trowa kept his back facing Quatre, and leaned against the window sill as he spoke to him

"Quatre…I'm so sorry about yesterday.." Trowa trailed off as he choked again. He couldn't bring himself to talk about it, and for the first time since he could remember, he actually knew he was going to cry if he kept speaking of it.

"Trowa, please. I can't talk about it right now." Quatre whispered, barely audible. Trowa heard him, but was too busy wrapped in his own thoughts. *That's why I have trouble telling Quatre that I'm concerned about him..* Trowa realized, and was actually quite amazed by his conclusion. *It makes me seem weak.* He considered this for a moment, and decided it was wrong. *It makes me think I'm weak.* He decided was the correct way to phrase it. He tried to turn around, to face Quatre, but he still couldn't bring himself to it, even with his present realization.

"Quatre, if we don't talk about it now, we never will." Trowa said, and was surprised to hear a soft, sympathetic tone to his voice. But even this new tone to his voice got no response from Quatre. *Have I wounded him again?* Trowa thought, and turned around to face his young friend.

"I really can't talk about it, Trowa. It's so much more than what happened yesterday, it's everything that's happened, things you can't possibly know about, that you can't understand." Quatre choked out, not daring to make eye contact with Trowa. He was sobbing now, and made sure to keep his head on his knees, so Trowa wouldn't have to see how hurt he looked, and he wouldn't have to see how hurt Trowa looked. Trowa tried to walk over to Quatre, to comfort him, but he couldn't do it. *Why can't I do this? Why do I have to appear to be strong, if it makes me seem unconcerned about the people around me, if it makes me seem inhuman?* Trowa turned his head away.

"I know I'm the one causing you to keep to yourself, Quatre. I know you think I don't care." Trowa said. He knew it was a lousy place to cut off, but he couldn't bring himself to say how he felt. *It's because I've never really done it before; no one's cared enough to listen.* He kept his head turned away from Quatre, so if he decided to look up, he wouldn't have to see how hard this was for him. *But I have to do this. I have to do this…for Quatre, if for no other reason.* 

"Trowa, don't do this to me now…." Quatre cried softly. *Why don't I just listen to him? Does it hurt me that much?* Quatre thought, and it only caused him to cry harder. Trowa was trying to open up to him, to talk to him, but Quatre was pushing him away. 

Trowa suddenly lost touch with his emotions, as quickly as he had originally acknowledged them. It was probably just him, but as soon as he closed himself, as soon as he returned to his usual nonchalance, the room seemed to be void. He shivered slightly at the thought.

"I'm sorry, Quatre." Trowa stated rather coldly, no real sorrow in his voice, as he walked out of the room. He didn't look back at Quatre once as he exited. Quatre wanted to apologize to Trowa, to tell him how much his friendship meant to him, but he couldn't do it. As Trowa exited the room, Quatre understood how alone he really was.

"Trowa?…Trowa, please come back…" Quatre said, although he didn't know if Trowa had heard him, and if he had, he didn't acknowledge it. *Why would he acknowledge it. I'm the one who pushed him away.* 

Trowa walked swiftly out of the living room, and made his way up to his room. He didn't want to leave Quatre like that; he looked so defenseless sitting by himself crying. But Trowa couldn't bring himself to stay. He knew he was angry, but he wasn't sure if that anger was directed at Quatre or himself. Half way up the stairs, he heard Quatre call to him, asking him to come back. Trowa turned around on the stairs and was about to head back into the living room, but he yet again found himself incapable of going to help his best friend. *What good is it going to do? I only make things worse for him.* Trowa winced as he heard Quatre begin to play his violin again. *Such a sad song..* He thought, and continued walking up the stairs.

Quatre had gotten up to go after Trowa but as soon as he stood up he didn't think he could face Trowa. He looked at his violin on the ground, picked it up, and began to play. He tried to play a happier song, maybe to try to fool himself into believing things weren't as bad as they seemed. But no matter how hard he tried the song sounded as sad and lonely as he felt. After a few more minutes he had to stop because the song was only making him more depressed. He placed his violin back in the display case, and sat on the couch, hoping Trowa would come back so they could talk.

"But if I want to talk to him so much, why don't I go find him? Why didn't I listen to him; am I so selfish that I can't see how much Trowa cares about me? I expect him to know what's wrong, but he doesn't know because I won't talk to him." Quatre spoke to himself out loud, trying to piece together his wandering thoughts. But all his thoughts led him back to his original question. *Why won't I talk to him?*

Trowa was sitting on his bed, looking across the room, but not really paying attention. He was feeling strange, almost like he was empty. He tried to keep himself from thinking about Quatre. Every time he did, his stomach lurched. He couldn't think of any of the happier times Quatre and himself had shared. The only thought that came to his mind was the fight from yesterday, and him practically punching Quatre across the face. *All because I couldn't handle what he was saying…he was telling me how he really felt.*

"I'm losing him. Every time I didn't use, or don't use, an opportunity I have to talk to him, we drift further apart." Trowa said softly to the empty room. He leaned against the backboard to the bed, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. *I manage to look so healthy even though Quatre looks as though he's dying.* He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, resting it against the cold wall.

He decided going for a walk might help him clear his head. Quatre got up and walked out of his house, completely aimless. It was such a beautiful day out, Quatre wished Trowa was walking with him. *I should just go back and talk to him..* He thought. He knew that the sooner he talked with Trowa the sooner their separation would be over with, but everything he wanted to talk about still hurt him too much. He suddenly got a chill, and decided that in his condition maybe he should go back to his house. But instead of turning around, he kept walking further away from Trowa. And the further he got, the more lonely he felt.

"Quatre?" Trowa said as he walked downstairs. It had been about a half-hour since he had left Quatre alone in the living room, he was feeling awful about walking away from his friend. He walked into the living room to find it empty; the violin had been put back in the display case, so Quatre hadn't left in a hurry. After searching the rest of the house and not finding Quatre, Trowa decided to go out and look for him. *He isn't well, he shouldn't be wandering around in his condition.* Trowa walked out of the house, and headed towards the park. *I just hope that's where he went as well..*

Quatre slowly sat down on a park bench that was by the lake. He was feeling light-headed, and the chills were getting worse now. He wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to stay warm. *I shouldn't be cold…it's not cold out..* Quatre worried. He was having trouble thinking straight, his mind was scattered all over the place. He tried to focus on getting up, getting back to his house, but he couldn't get up, he didn't have enough energy. He was alone, and he was sick and weak. He smiled wryly. *But I'm always weak…aren't I?* He thought dimly. He looked up into the cloudless sky, and closed his eyes. *It's…such a beautiful…day..* He trailed off, and slipped into unconsciousness. 

When Trowa saw Quatre sitting on the park bench, his heart sank. He couldn't believe he had let things get this bad, that he had ignored Quatre for so long. He walked swiftly over to Quatre and realized that he was unconscious. As he sat down on the bench next to Quatre he realized how much his silence had hurt Quatre.

"I'll get you to a hospital, Quatre. I promise never to let it get this bad ever again." Trowa whispered as he went to pick Quatre up. But when he touched Quatre's hand, he pulled away. *He's so cold..* He thought, and hesitated for a moment before finally picking Quatre up and carrying him off, headed towards the hospital.

"I don't know what's wrong with him." Trowa explained to the doctor again. Quatre had been taken to a hospital room, and was resting in a bed. This was the third doctor who questioned Trowa, and the two before him had gotten the same answer. "He wouldn't tell me what's wrong."

"Well, we can tell you this: It's definitely malnutrition. Looks as though he hasn't been eating much for at least three days by now. But are you trying to tell us you didn't notice?" The doctor sounded rather irritated.

"I noticed. I tried to get him to eat something, but he wouldn't. I didn't know what to do." Trowa said. His full attention wasn't on the doctor, though. He often turned around to check on Quatre, just to make sure everything was still alright in his room.

"Did you abuse him?" Trowa started at this question, and sucked in a deep breath. This was the first time any of the doctors mentioned the black and blue. He let out his breath slowly, hoping the doctor hadn't noticed.

"No." Trowa said shortly. He didn't want to get into explanations; he didn't think the doctor had the right to know about his personal problems.

"The how did he get the bruise on his cheek?" The doctor inquired. Trowa turned away again and looked at Quatre, who was still unconscious. *I shouldn't be telling him this, I should've told this to Quatre..* Trowa thought, trying to think of an indecisive way to explain the incident to the doctor.

"I hit him. We were fighting, and I hit him." Trowa said, a deep remorse to his voice.

"So you did abuse him, at least once." Trowa turned back to the doctor, his anger becoming present again. His eyes were burning with the anger he felt at this remark.

"No, I didn't!," Trowa said hotly. "It was an accident! We both said things we didn't mean; it was a mistake on my part." Trowa fumed, unable to keep himself quiet any more. "It wasn't intentional, I apologized to him, but I don't think he ever heard me…" Trowa added softly as he turned back to look at Quatre. *He's so pale…what can I do to help him?* When he turned around again, the doctor smiled warmly at him.

"Well, don't worry about it. He'll be fine once he wakes up. You should take him home and make sure he eats something when he wakes up." The doctor said, and walked off. Trowa turned around, and punched the wall, venting his anger. Only the anger he vented wasn't directed at the doctor for implying he abused Quatre, the anger was directed at himself, for reasons that weren't so clear and for other reasons that were crystal clear in his mind. *He won't be fine unless we settle this soon.* Trowa thought as he entered Quatre's hospital room and sat down in a chair, patiently awaiting for Quatre to wake up.

*What happened?….Did I die? Oh, God no. I finally did it, I died. I didn't want to die…I never got to talk to Trowa…I never got to tell him how sorry I was. I can't be dead, can I? No! No, I can't be! It's such a beautiful day…* Quatre moaned, and opened his eyes slowly. As soon as he realized he was in a hospital, he quickly sat up.

"Trowa?" He said, and looked around. When he didn't see Trowa around anywhere, he put his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. *He probably doesn't even know I'm here..* He sighed, and then opened his eyes, and looked out the window. *How long have I been here? What happened?..* Quatre wished someone was around to answer his questions, but there wasn't even a nurse in his room. He heard the door open, and sat up quickly. He couldn't help but be disappointed when a nurse entered the room. She walked over to the bed, and began checking the monitors, to make sure everything was normal.

"It's good to see you're finally awake. I hope you've learned your lesson. When you're hungry, you eat, you don't ignore it." She said quite sternly. "You'll be alright as soon as you eat something. I'll go get you some food." She added with a smile, and then made to leave.

"Excuse me, miss," Quatre started. The nurse turned back to face him. "How did I get here?" He asked. The nurse looked around and let out a short laugh.

"He was so worried about you too, he refused to leave the room and when he does you wake up." She remarked out loud. "I think he's a friend of yours, I believe he said his name was Trowa. He brought you in and wouldn't leave your side for two hours. Then the doctor convinced him to go eat something, and that's where he went." The nurse explained. "I'll go see if I can find him for you."

"Thank you." Quatre said softly as the nurse exited the room. He couldn't help but smile as he looked out the window. He knew that when Trowa finally came back to the room, they'd both be ready to talk to one another. *He really does care about me…I always knew he did.*

~ The End ~


End file.
